


The Cost

by loadedcasserole



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Drift is/was loaded, M/M, Ratchet borrows some money
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 15:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4397609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loadedcasserole/pseuds/loadedcasserole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the Lost Light in desperate need of medical supplies, Ratchet finds a benefactor in Drift.   Pre-exile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cost

**Author's Note:**

> Began this shortly after we found out how much dough Drift had been tossing around to get the quest underway.

 

"With those specifications, we have two alloys that may interest you.  One being more flexible and the other just a bit brittle."

Ratchet tapped his hand on the table in thought.  A bit brittle may as well be very brittle.  Next to useless.  Everyone deserved the best, but they didn't have an infinite well of funds.  "What's the price difference?"

First Aid sent him a glance.  He knew how badly they needed the better grade.

"One twenty-nine for a unit of D-Croa and two forty-nine for the A."

Primus.  He wished they could have stopped in the last system for the medical bay's shopping list.  Even if the material was just as rare in that sector, planets had a much lower sales rate than outposts.  However, they were being tailed by what appeared to be a Decepticon ship and couldn't risk stopping.

Rodimus had wanted to confront the ship, but Ultra Magnus convinced him that it would be better to jump through space and avoid it altogether.  Although he wasn't happy to put off the supply run, Ratchet shared Ultra Magnus's opinion that they had filled their Decepticon quota for the month and to leave if they had the option.

He focused on the task at hand, almost wishing he had Swerve with him.  The metallurgist could tell him how much use he could get out of the lesser Croa.  Ratchet couldn’t use it as it was, but with some time on their parts, he might get a better yield.  He hadn't expected to be able to purchase it here.

Croa was a material that was very handy for repairing spark chambers, and Ratchet hated to think what would happen if their supplies entirely dwindled.  They had enough on hand for Lockstock's treatment, but if a disaster occurred, they'd be in a bad situation.  The times when they didn't have it tended to lean on the grim side.

" _Please tell me you're not thinking about it,_ " First Aid sent over the comm.

Ratchet shot, " _It's this, or wait until the next system._ "

" _That could be a deca-cycle from now.  We can't go that long without it._ " First Aid's EM field flared.  " _I can't believe this.  This is thievery.  But fine.  Just get as much of the A grade as you can and let's go._ "

" _Then we can't replace the core for the diagnostic drone._ "

Ratchet and First Aid shared in a moment of unhappy silence.  It wasn't a choice, they had to go with the Croa, even if the downed drone doubled their workload.

They had all gotten spoiled on full recharge anyways.

" _Let me go ask something, see if you can haggle._ "  He left the small shop abruptly.  Hopefully, by the put-out expression on the owner's face, he'd left a serious impression that would make it easier for First Aid.

First Aid continued, " _Rodimus said he couldn't give any more shanix_."

" _I know_ ," he acknowledged and let First Aid's communication signal fade into the mess of data streams in the air.  Their captain did realize the importance of a well-kept infirmary, but the fact was that they didn't have much currency on board.  The war had left everyone with very meager earnings and even fewer assets.  The only thing keeping their vessel space-faring was the trade of whatever materials they were capable of synthesizing and gadgets they could craft.

He strided down the hall, making his way toward the exit elevator.  Despite the underground corridor being very expansive, the numbers in the crowd made it tricky to navigate.  The majority of the station was, for the most part, below ground.  A nearby star made the surface uncomfortable for most organics.  

Vendors lined the sides with their colorful booths and assorted wares.  A merchant called out to him, and he pretended not to hear when he saw typical data cables on display. Another vendor bragged that his wares could unfurl nearby dimensions.  Two small creatures with tubes coming out of their helms argued from afar.  Surrounding him, small and large creatures had little care if they brushed his sides.

In most places, people went out of their way to avoid Cybertronians, but they had traveled much by this point.  The port, and its visitors, either didn't know of the violence that followed their species or didn't see them enough to care.

Thank goodness.  Maybe they'd hit some luck and be able to make more frequent stops.

He eventually squeezed onto an elevator, just barely tolerating the jostling of the crowd, and began pinging the crew.  It took until the lift stopped at the surface, the nearby land dark but littered with artificial light, that he got a signal through.  All he received was the location of a nearby member, but it would do.

With a port as busy as this one most transmissions were lost before they got far.  Cybertron, even during it's most populous years, had more organized data.  Ratchet attributed this, in part, to travelers constantly bringing in new technology.  One new thing was bound to effect another.

He had dialed down a several sensors hours ago because of this, so when a hand suddenly clamped down on his shoulder, he nearly threw a punch in surprise.

"Where's your buddy Ratchet?" Drift asked, hand drawing back innocently.

"Pit Drift!  Don't do that." He realized, belatedly, that he had arrived at the location.

The third-in-command insisted, "I don't see your buddy."

"My- Oh.  I left him."

Drift shot him a disapproving look. "You left.  Your partner."

"Can you get a hold of Swerve?  I need to ask him something."

"You can't just leave your partner!  That's not how the buddy system works."

Now Drift was just being annoying.

"Where's Rodimus then?" Ratchet asked, glancing around.  Dozens of aliens milled around where they stood, but the lack of red and gold by Drift's side couldn't be more obvious.

Drift thumbed toward the building behind. "He's arguing for information."

"And you left him in there alone?"

"Yeah, no.  It's not the same.  The aura was bad and I needed some air." Drift vented loudly in emphasis.  "I'll drag him out in a while.  He'll need to cool off too."

It was exactly the same.  Who knew what trouble Rodimus would create, but Ratchet raised his hands in surrender.  “Fine.  Can you contact Swerve?  I think he stayed on the ship.”

“Sure,” Drift agreed and pulled out an awkwardly shaped communication device from his subspace.  It looked like it had been slapped together in a short time, loops of circuitry dangled from its sides.

It took a few kliks to get it working, but finally Swerve came on the line and Ratchet explained the situation.

“ _Yeah, I could turn it into a better grade, but without some very specific tools that I just don't have, I don't think I could bring it up to medical standard.  Maybe if you got a sample, we could find out._ ”

In other words, they wouldn't be getting much today.  

Ratchet thanked Swerve and ended the call with a swear.

Drift mimicked Ratchet's frown.  “Hey- Uh.”

“Thanks Drift.”  Best find First Aid and share the news.  If he managed to talk the merchant down a substantial amount, they could come out better.

“Ratchet.”  Drift grabbed his arm as if afraid he'd run off.  “How much do you need?”

He ran the numbers in his head and considered the question, wary of what kind of response his answer would garner.  “About five hundred,” he replied at last.

Drift paused, then slowly raised a card. “Here.”

Ratchet felt a strange weight on his shoulders and had the urge to run.  Which was ridiculous.  If that's what he thought it was, he should be feeling the opposite.

“It's got three thousand on it.  Get whatever you need.  As much as you need.”

Guilt.  The feeling was guilt.  It was true that Drift had spent an huge sum of mysteriously procured shanix to get their quest underway, but money didn't make itself.  If the third-in-command had the funds to cover every expense, they wouldn't be trading at every opportunity.  And the medical bay would have already had a larger allotment before they landed.

If Drift was offering only now, then it had to be the near, if not the entire, last of it.  He had somehow appealed to the swordmech's sense of right, handing over all he had.  The one who started with nothing.

“Drift.  Is that all you have?” he asked softly.

The swordmech's frowned in disappointment before stretching to one of offense. “Not good enough?”

It was unfortunate wording, Ratchet reflected, and said hurriedly, “What?  No!  I didn't mean it like that.  What I meant is, that's the last of whatever savings you had.  I don't want-  It'd be-  Primus Drift!”

It'd feel like robbery, Ratchet thought.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, understanding dawning. “Hey, don't worry about it.  People need this.  It's going to save lives.”  Drift smiled with a warmth that Ratchet tried to over-look, and slipped the card in his hand before he could properly register it.

He wanted to argue.  He tried to think of something other than calling Drift stupid as a basis for an argument.

He couldn't.

Instead, he rubbed his face tiredly and said lamely, “I'm sorry.”  The situation itself was sorry.

Drift laughed lightly and patted his arm.  “Don't apologize, it's an honor to help. Here, I'll escort you back, just give me a minute to tell Rodimus.”

“No.  No, it's fine.  I can make it back on my own.”  Drift didn't have to go out of his way for every little thing.

He received an wave. "Alright, but don't leave your buddy."

"Sure.  Fine," he huffed.  He took a moment to think on the next best course, and then added quietly,  " . . . Thank you Drift."

He should at least know it was appreciated.  Even if no one else paid much attention to it.

If by the stupid look on Drift's face said anything, he didn't hear it enough.  Ratchet turned and left, fists tightening at the thought.  The crowd parted easily in his wake.  Nobody wanted to be caught in the path of a fragged off mech.

He'd get what they came for and make sure Drift got the remainder.  It would make for a good excuse to ask the white mech if he wanted a tune up.

Probably not, but it was the best he could do.

-

Ratchet pushed his way through the mass below ground.  It was fast approaching time for the outpost to face the light of the sun, and many more bodies were packed into the area than before.  Travel was slow.

He spent most of the tedious shuffle glaring at the sweaty, green back that took up most of his vision, trying to will the organic to move quicker with his gaze.  He juggled the idea of toggling off his visual and audio receptors.  It might make the passage nearly bearable.  He could certainly do without watching pores secrete liquids.

"Hey there pretty la- uh whatever you are, might I interest you in some-"

"-straight from the oceans of Dobbo, and cooked to fit whatever your customs may-"

"-lever here activates the gadget, you'd be surprised on what you can find."

"-vile, every single one of them.  If I see another scale on my rug I'll-"

He decided against turning them off completely and compromised by dialing them down.  There.  Much better.

He hoped First Aid managed to talk the merchant down to a reasonable degree, it would allow Ratchet to return more of the change to Drift.  Unless he decided to stock up.

Drift did say to use however much he needed, and it would be good to have as much of the Croa available as possible, but he didn't want to leave Drift for broke.  Ratchet highly doubted that the swordsmech was as comfortable with the thought as he'd like Ratchet to believe.

It was as he was calculating how much to leave for Drift that Ratchet noted a tugging sensation.  Not generally would this be worrying.  There were a lot of people pressed against him, but somehow it didn't feel quite physical.  He couldn't place where it was coming from or even what it was directed at.  It was in the air around him, pulling gently in some areas, leaving other places taunt.  

The tug became a yank.

A loud crash was heard, startled screams following after.

Everyone stilled.

Ratchet looked about, trying to place what had happened, but the commotion had abruptly ended, and the area was too dense to pick up any differences. The crowd soon lost interest.

It must not have been very bad, whatever it was.

"Move it robot,"  a voice from behind said derisively.

"Move yourself."

The being shoved its way past him none-too-gently, others passing by in turn.  Ratchet stayed as he was.  Something had changed.

Something abnormal.

He studied the area around.  His optics soon caught sight of an tiny organic carrying a welder that was vastly disproportionate to the creature's size.  It scurried ahead, quickly gaining distance with its heavy cargo.  He had seen that welder before.

Ratchet checked his subspace with haste.

That couldn't be one of his.  Surely.

His subspace revealed to be entirely devoid.

"Oh frag.  Oh no.  How did- where is-" That _was_ his welder.  He wanted a chance to make sense of what had happened, but he needed to prioritize.  "WHOSE GOT MY MEDKIT?" he shouted.

Nevermind the welder that got carried off.  He wouldn't be able to catch the thieving sack of under-evolved flesh quickly enough to have a chance at finding his other equipment.  He had some tools and items in that medkit that were very valuable and not easily replicated.  Yes, they had much of the same on the ship, but that really wasn't the point.  It was _his_ medkit.

And Drift's card.  Oh Primus, he had put that in his subspace too.

He did a grid search, working his way out from the position he had been standing in when his subspace decided to vomit its contents.  Ratchet picked at the floor, sometimes recovering a loose item and occasionally making aborted grabs at random trash.  Without legs in the way, it would be infinitely easier, but he was stuck having to navigate around them.

After a long search and a heated argument with an organic, he managed to recover most of his belongings, including his kit.  There had been, unfortunately, no sign of Drift's card.

It was, after all, made so that it could slide into pockets conveniently.

He felt ill.


End file.
